There is practically nothing that could be
called «synth-pop» on this album, but neither is there anything that would even
remotely qualify for a «rock» sound. Acoustic guitars, keyboards, and
orchestration fully dominate the proceedings: Ring Of Changes is Barclay's mellowest album since the very
beginning, and that says a lot, considering how mellow they had been since
1974. In a way, this is even curious, because the record goes against the
grain: in 1983, «mellow» usu­ally meant stuffing your songs with bland
synthesizer tones that reached all the way to heaven, not placing your trust in
old-fashioned cellos and violins.

Much of the credit for this must proba­bly go
to the band's new producer, Pip Williams, who was previously mostly known for
produ­cing a long bunch of Status Quo records — but who also helped relaunch
the comeback of The Moody Blues.
And, supposedly, once he had helped the «rich man's Moody Blues» get back on
their creative feet with Long Distance
Voyager and The Present (the
only two of their Eighties' records that could at least partially match the
quality of the old days), it must have been only natural for him to go across
and try and do the same thing with the «poor man's Moody Blues».

The beginning is weirdly promising: a baroque
chamber music passage instead of the expected synthesizers. Midway through, the
strings turn Hollywoodish, though, and then sink into the background as
ʽFifties' Childʼ finally takes shape as a typical BJH number: soft, romantic,
thinly intellectual, mildly nostalgic, just a teeny bit touching while it's on,
and completely forgettable when it's off. The vocal melody in some respects
seems like a variation on the already not-too-awesome ʽHymnʼ — and the message
is of comparable profundity: ʽLove was a lesson we tried to learn / There were
no exams to pass or failʼ. With each passing year, as nostalgic tributes to
Sixties' idealism keep multiplying and, consequently, depreciating in net
value, there is less and less motivation to be interested in this one.

But you know what? Easily the best thing about
ʽFifties' Childʼ is its bassline — all of a sudden, Holroyd's lines start
drawing more attention to themselves than whatever Lees is doing, because the
guy suddenly gets the urge to make them as melodic and expressive as possible.
Maybe he had some serious Sgt. Pepper
inhalation or something, but the way he explores all possible swerves from the
basic rhythm is really the only thing that prevents me from falling asleep to
Lees' soft preaching. And later on, it turns out that this is not an exception:
about half of the songs here have
excellent basswork: ʽHigh Wireʼ, ʽJust A Day Awayʼ, ʽMidnight Drugʼ... we
probably have Pip Williams to thank for putting these parts so high in the mix,
but, whatever be the situa­tion, Ring Of
Changes is the first album in the BJH catalog that made me aware of
Holroyd's above-average talents as bass player.

Holroyd is also responsible for the most
memorable, if also most repetitive and unadventurous, bass phrase on the album
— the pulsating loop that drives the title track, which is itself an anthem to
the endless cycle of life, going on for way too long (unless the underlying
message is that the endless cycle of life is a continuous bore, which would be
at least worth considering) but cleverly arranged, with the bass loop, the grumbling
electronic bleeps, and the strange Eastern-vibe strings combining in a unique
manner. The bass loop and the bleeps might illustrate the relentless cogs of
life locked in an endless grind, but the psychedelic strings?.. Makes one
wonder.

As for the rest of the songs, they're okay — on
the whole, less satisfactory than Turn
Of The Tide because of the lack of a rock sound (not a single uplifting
Lees solo!), but, as usual, melodic and somewhat memorable for those who will
stand several listens. Occasionally, they do begin to sound like late period
Bee Gees (ʽWaiting For The Right Timeʼ — strange that Les held back on singing
this one in falsetto, all the other adult contemporary ingredients already
present), but on the whole, the 1970s folk-pop vibe is still prevalent, and as
long as they manage to hold out against mainstream Eighties' values, BJH are
still a listenable outfit.

One last particular mention: the orchestration
on ʽParaiso Dos Cavalosʼ, John's hyper-sentimental ode to a horseback vacation
in Portugal, is absolutely marvelous — formulaic and a little cheesy, perhaps,
but the New World Philharmonic Orchestra, conducted by David Katz, gives the
song a far more uplifting and grandiose flavor than its main melody. Probably
an accident — on the whole, the orchestral arrangements on the album are not
too adventurous — but every happy ac­cident on a late period BJH album counts,
because that's what a typical late period BJH album usually is: mush and
mediocrity with an occasional tasty treat for the seeker.